


In A Sentimental Mood

by popstarryeyed (space_feminist)



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: M/M, anyway, happy end of the decade/beginning of the decade to you all, i've never been to a new years party like this but i thought it would be a good setting for a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_feminist/pseuds/popstarryeyed
Summary: Andrew and Alex dance at a New Year's party.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Alex Ryan (Hozier)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	In A Sentimental Mood

Shimmery dresses and fine suits swished past; a tie constricted his neck. He'd lost track of how many people he'd spoken to and how many glasses of champagne he'd had. Everywhere he turned, there was someone who wanted him. Praise and I-haven’t-seen-you-in-so-long, congratulations and we-should-hang-out-more, a recycled response of thanks and nice-to-see-you and I’ve-been-so-busy-sorry. He plastered on smiles, a friendly demeanor. They were his friends, after all. It wasn't their fault they weren't who he wanted to see.

And then he saw him.

A flash of blond hair, a lanky figure, a voice in the crowd that resonated low. They locked eyes, and it was if the crowd parted, or at least, perhaps, the moment of coming together was not as important to Andrew as his presence.

All other conversations forgotten, they stood together at a table by the large windows of the top-floor apartment, overlooking the city skyline. The beats of the dance floor were a distant thrum.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

At a loss for anything else to say, Andrew said, “You got a haircut. Looks nice.”

Alex ruffled his hair. “Thanks, man.”

“You look nice in general.”

Indeed, he did – in a well-fitted suit that flattered his strong arms and slender waist, with his beard clearly groomed, his strong profile and mischievous eyes as wonderful as ever.

“Thanks. So do you. Although...” He flicked away a crumb on Andrew's collar.

The brief moment of closeness sent a shock through Andrew's body, memories of their time together coursing through him. But just as quickly as he was there, Alex was gone, back to his respectable distance. Andrew met his eyes, and they said that Alex, too, felt the thick buzzing tension of the space between them.

Not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone they knew.

Andrew didn't know what to say. He looked out the window at the twinkling lights of the city skyline. “Nice view.”

“Mm-hm.”

It was strange that becoming closer had forced them apart, every topic of conversation that would have occupied them as friends now too personal, too revealing for this setting.

A slow jazz song wafted over to them from the dance floor, an Ella Fitzgerald classic Andrew was fond of. He couldn't help but smile, and Alex grinned back.

“You sentimental fucker. D'you wanna dance?” he asked.

Andrew's mouth went dry. “Here?”

“On the dancefloor, Andy.”

“No, I meant, ehm...”

Alex caught his meaning. “They're gonna find out eventually, right? Jon and Patrick already have.”

Andrew looked him over. Alex could be inscrutable at times, even mysterious, but he was Andrew’s rock on tour, a steady constant in the perpetually changing world of the road. It was that solidity, that stability and reassurance, that Andrew saw in his expression now. No fear or hesitation.

Wordlessly, Andrew nodded, and Ella Fitzgerald beckoned them onto the dancefloor. Alex put his arms around Andrew's neck, and Andrew tentatively put his hands around Alex's waist.

And immediately stepped on Alex's foot.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

Andrew's face felt warm. Alex always had this grace about him, these fluid movements onstage as if his mind and his body were one. Andrew had always felt as though his mind was merely carried by his body, a large and strange vessel over which he had little control.

Slowly, carefully, they swayed and shuffled to the slow jazz, finding a rhythm that suited them. Andrew's eyes glanced around the room. "They're looking at us," he whispered.

“Yeah, we're two tall lads dancing together. We do stick out a bit.”

Someone giggled, and Andrew's heart beat faster. “I feel like I'm back in secondary school and some chaperone's gonna break us apart.” He craned his neck to see who'd laughed, and Alex put a hand on his jaw and locked eyes with him.

“Just keep your gaze on me, okay? Don't worry.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

Alex shrugged. “So many things are ending. The tour's over, the year's over, the decade's over. I feel like something's changing, like it's time to do something different.”

“Chop your hair off.”

Alex chuckled. “Yeah, that. But also...I don't want to hide anymore. If we're living always afraid of what people will think, y'know, that's not really living.”

The music stopped, and a TV switched on, the Times Square ball drop. The room counted down.

“10, 9, 8...”

Andrew didn't speak, he just looked at Alex.

“7, 6, 5...”

Alex smiled at him. There was a dimple in his cheek.

“4, 3, 2...”

Andrew smiled back, tears suddenly filling his eyes.

“1...Happy New Year!”

Corks popped, noisemakers honked, people cheered, and Andrew kissed Alex. His mouth was soft and tasted of champagne, and he smelled clean and fresh and a bit like Andrew’s cologne. They pulled apart slowly, and Andrew kept his eyes closed for a few moments before opening them to see the blissful look on Alex’s face that was mirrored on his own.

“You’re right, Alex.”

“'Course I am.”

Andrew exhaled softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The music started up again, and they swayed together to a new tune.


End file.
